The Linton Girl
by cherry cup
Summary: The Lintons don't turn Heathcliff away when he and Cathy sneak into Thrushcross Grange. Isabella Linton finds him and takes him in with her. Isabella/Heathcliff
1. Chapter 1

**Um, hi, I'm a bit new here so first I'd like to mention this is a school assignment I chose to write for my class. I wanted to write about Isabella Linton. My teacher encouraged me to continue, but I'm not sure. I have many ideas, but I'm not a very skilled writer and I don't know if I could capture the period and more importantly, English isn't my first language. But I'm giving it a go, so please tell me what you think!**

* * *

"Light! Bring light! The girl is down!"

That is what Isabella heard her brother shout when she went through the corridor to reach the front door. Their neighbour's daughter had apparently snuck into their garden and had got hurt.

By the time she arrived at the scene, two of the household servants were carrying Catherine Earnshaw into the house. She was mumbling incoherently, but Isabella could make out the name "Heathcliff" repeated over and over.

Her own father had come down and was scolding her brother for throwing a fit.

"Papa, Skulker was on her! I think she's badly injured!"

"We shall see," he replied evenly, steering Edgar back inside. He hadn't noticed Isabella standing on the terrace, behind one of the pillars.

She would have followed them, but she saw a shadow from the corner of her eye. It crossed the garden fast and reached the gate. She ran after it.

It was a tall, gruff-looking boy who was trying to jump over the rails.

"You there! Stop this instant!"

The boy pretended not to hear her and doubled his efforts.

"Turn around so I can see you! Were you with Miss Earnshaw?"

The boy's back was stiff. He was obviously angry and wouldn't speak. His skin was a few shades darker and he looked like a common stable boy. But his clothes were not a stable boy's clothes. And he was cleaner than most of them, too.

"I know she didn't come here by herself. My brother and I heard two voices."

"I'll be leaving now," he barked, trying to force the gates open. They were stuck from the rain.

"You're Heathcliff, aren't you?"

The boy's every move stilled. He turned around and threw her a dark glare.

"I heard Miss Earnshaw call your name. She will probably worry if you steal into the night like that. Come inside. Father will want to speak with you."

The boy measured her with suspicion in his eyes. Here was a pristine little girl dressed in muslin, with soft curls framing her cheeks and she was telling him what to do.

"He will send after you, it's best not to anger him," she continued, her tone more grave.

Heathcliff spat on the ground. "Let him send after me then."

"You wouldn't want that. He'll tell young Mr. Earnshaw -"

"I don't care a lick about that fool."

Isabella huffed. "Well! You're very rude!"

"And you're a nuisance," he replied, scathingly.

Isabella felt stuck. She had no idea what to do next. She couldn't let him leave and if she called for one of the servants he'd surely bolt.

She took a step forward.

"You want to know what happens to Miss Earnshaw, don't you?"

She saw him clench and unclench his fists, undecided. He probably felt just as stuck as her.

"Well?"

When she saw he still wouldn't move, she rolled her eyes and cried: "Oh, come with me already! I am sick of standing here in the cold!"

She took his rough hand into hers and pulled him forcefully towards the entrance. The shock of the contact made Heathcliff strangely compliant and he let himself be led to the door with an astonished expression on his face. Her hand was pudgy and soft like a pincushion. His hand was calloused and leathery.

Once inside, Isabella could take a better look at him. He was a curious-looking boy with an awkward gait, but a very strong figure. His face was cast in shadows and his eyes were bright, though black. His mouth was curled up in disdain and he seemed to wear a sulking expression wherever he went.

"I will fetch a blanket, if you like. You look cold."

Heahthcliff muttered something angrily.

"Fine, then. I'll have you sit in the parlour while I check on Miss Earnshaw. Will you have some tea?"

"No. I don't need to sit in the parlour. I'll sit by her door."

Isabella looked stumped. "Surely you don't mean that."

"I do."

"You can't sit outside her door like a dog. She is in very good hands with us."

Heahthcliff grimaced. "Then tell her I'm here. Tell her to shout and I'll be at her bedside."

Isabella's eyebrows rose. "Well, I certainly won't tell her _that_."

Heathcliff's hand was suddenly on her arm, squeezing painfully.

"You tell her what I told you! Or I'll jump up those stairs and take her from this place myself."

His eyes shone with such fury that Isabella almost shrieked. But she was made of thicker skin than that.

She pulled away her arm and stomped her foot, trying to make herself look taller than she was.

"Now you listen here, you little..._miscreant_. You're lucky I haven't called my father yet! You're being terribly rude and I won't have it! You will sit and wait like a gentleman and make no further threats."

Heathcliff was startled by her display of authority, since it was coming from such a small creature. He'd seen her stupid brother sing and dance earlier at the window. He could imagine her practice being a high matron and running the house like a little lady. He would have laughed, if Cathy weren't on his mind.

"If you behave, I will tell you all I know about Miss Earnshaw when I return."

Heathcliff sighed and followed her into the parlour. He lurched down into one of the armchairs without so much as a nod and sat looking at the floor.

Isabella left him there and went to see if she could find out more about Miss Earnshaw. But before she climbed up the stairs, she told one of the servants to fetch some tea.

"There's a young man in the parlour, Miss Earnshaw's ...companion. See that he warms up. Oh, and don't mind his temper."

Heathcliff snuck a look over his shoulder at the open door. He could see Isabella Linton climb up the stairs, holding her skirts in one hand, her step graceful and elegant. She held her chin up high, like she was fighting off a gale. And she was wearing a pair of very silly silk shoes, the colour of amber with streaks of dirt from her previous encounter with him.

This time, he couldn't hold his laughter. He sniggered and turned away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! After discussing it more with my teacher and seeing your reponses I decided to post the chapter I've been working on. I've revised it several times and I hope it doesn't have any major mistakes. **

**This story, as far as I've planned, will attempt to be a rewrite of the story, with Isabella and Heathcliff at the centre of it and I hope I remain at least partially faithful to the novel. **

**Thank you so much for your reviews, they really encouraged me! Thanks to GeekyGothGal (very flattered about my English, I do proofread a lot and brush it up as much as I can!), Alex (wow, so I'm not the only one who wanted this to happen! and I agree completely, I couldn't find much fanfiction about her either, there needs to be more), vampirelladan (thank you again). I'm really happy other people like Isabella too and want to read about her more. I was intrigued by her and the tragic fate she succumbed to and I really wanted to tell her story. That sounds a bit arrogant, but I just couldn't let it go when I finished the book!**

**Some changes I needed to make: I've changed the characters' ages as follows: Heathcliff is fifteen, Isabella is fourteen, Edgar is seventeen, Cathy is fourteen. In the original novel, at this point, they are around twelve/thirteen. I need them a bit older, I hope no one minds. Also, for reasons that will become more evident later, Mrs. Linton is absent from the story as she is already dead. Isabella behaves like the lady of the house for a reason and that is due to her mother's absence. Her mother's death does have a big impact on her which will be revealed gradually.  
**

**That said, I hope I can pull this off as this would be a pretty big accomplishment for me and I'd be doing something I really love. **

**Anyways, please enjoy and let me know if it's all right!**

* * *

Isabella had to wait for half an hour before she was finally admitted to see Miss Earnshaw. She paced the hallway nervously and didn't stop even when her governess, Miss Barch, told her to go to her room.

"It's far too late for you to be up," Miss Barch told her in a stern voice.

"I am nearly fourteen! It's not late at all! Besides, this is a special occasion," she argued back.

Miss Barch couldn't dissuade her.

When one of the maids came out of the room, carrying a chamber pot that was filled with red-coloured water, Miss Barch shrank away in disgust, but Isabella watched with barely contained curiosity.

Finally, the physician told her father Isabella may go in and see her.

"The company of someone her age, especially female, might be of comfort. I've given her some paregoric, but she is still showing signs of ...excitement."

Isabella was too pleased to hear she may visit. She didn't bother to listen any further. As she stepped through the door, she thought she heard the physician say Miss Earnshaw would need bed rest for the next days. Her mind was instantly filled with ideas of activities and games. She would make it her purpose to entertain their guest.

The room was dark and warm. Isabella wished she could open a window, but the servants and Miss Barch would probably forbid it. They said you could catch your death if you stayed in a room where a window had been opened.

When she neared the bed, she noticed Miss Earnshaw was lying on her stomach, moaning.

"Miss Earnshaw?" Isabella asked, sitting on a small stool next to her.

The girl growled into the pillow. Her long dark hair was spread over her face.

"Does it hurt badly?"

"Mmm..."

"I'm dreadfully sorry. I've told my brother a thousand times to train Skulker properly. I'm afraid he's a wild beast. But he's not a bad dog, he's just got a temper and...you have to admit, you frightened him too. I'm sure he's sorry by now. That is, if animals do have a conscience which I believe they do..."

Catherine Earnshaw turned towards the girl and made a face.

"C-Consh...what?"

"Oh, nothing. I just said, animals must have a conscience too."

"What's that?"

Isabella started. "You don't know what a conscience is?"

"Haven't...heard of it."

"Oh, dear. That's strange. Well, a conscience is what makes you do the right thing. After you've thought about it, of course," Isabella explained, smiling confidently.

Cathy frowned. Miss Linton couldn't have been older than her and yet she spoke and acted like a young woman.

_Or an old hag_, Cathy thought humorously.

"Shall I fetch you anything?" Isabella asked, turning serious.

"Heathcliff. Where's Heathcliff?" Cathy asked, her voice hoarse. "I need to see him, where is he? Did he run home?"

"Oh!" Isabella said, her face lighting up. "I can help with that. He's waiting in the parlour, you see. I've told one of the servants to give him some tea. I hope that's all right."

Cathy's eyes seemed to come back to life.

"So he's here. He's waiting for me."

Isabella smiled. She thought the girl must be relieved to know her friend was safe, but then, in a moment, Miss Earnshaw turned several degrees whiter than before.

"Oh, no, no! That's no good! He should've run! What'll they do to him? My brother, he won't understand and your father, he'll say things!"

Isabella quickly took hold of her hand.

"Miss Earnshaw, please calm down! No one will say anything to anyone! My father..."

_Your father doesn't know he's in the house_, a voice in her head suddenly told her.

"My father won't be angry, he won't punish him, if that's what you're concerned about," Isabella finished, averting her eyes.

That much was true; her father rarely resorted to corporal punishment. His words, however, cut worse than a knife.

_I have to tell my father I've brought him in_, she realized, her heart suddenly growing small. _I have to explain...I couldn't just leave him out there! He must understand!_

There was a knock at the door.

"Miss Linton!"

Isabella groaned. Miss Barch's head appeared in the doorway. "I'm to stay with the missus, now you run down and have some supper."

"But Miss Barch –"

"I'll have none of your talk. You may see Miss Earnshaw tomorrow, after she's rested. Come now, your brother is waiting outside."

Isabella sighed a great sigh.

"I'm so sorry to be leaving you Miss Earnshaw, but don't worry. I will take care of things," Isabella said shrewdly, winking.

Cathy made a face. "What're you winking at me for?"

Isabella blushed and walked out of the room.

"I will return as soon as I can," she added, as Miss Barch ushered her out.

Her brother was waiting in the corridor and he looked rather impatient.

"What a shame I can't see her myself," Edgar said, kicking an imaginary stone with his foot.

"Well, there's not much to see, she's in a disoriented state," Isabella told him, taking his arm.

"I only caught a glimpse of her, but she's so...she's so strange and beautiful, isn't she?"

Isabella nudged him playfully.

"Careful! If you fall in love with her you must marry her and Papa will surely have a say in that!"

"Oh, Bella! You and your ideas!"

Just then, Isabella remembered her errand.

"You go ahead, I remember I've left a book in the drawing room –"

"All right, but be quick about it. We're eating in the kitchens tonight. Papa is dining with the physician."

"Oh and he won't have us children running about?" Isabella asked dryly.

Edgar smiled. "You know Father."

Her brother disappeared around a corner and Isabella ran down towards the parlour, heart beating in her chest.

To her relief, she found Heathcliff sitting in the same position by the fire. He was staring at the flames.

A small tray comprising of a cup of tea and two slices of buttered bread sat untouched.

Isabella frowned. She would speak to the servants to bring more food next time.

"Hello again."

Heathcliff stood up anxiously.

"You've seen her then?"

"Yes, I have and she is perfectly fine, if only a bit in pain. I don't imagine there's been a lot of blood. She just needs a good rest."

Heathcliff searched her face to see if she was lying.

"Can she walk?"

"Well, I wouldn't –"

"If she can't, I'll carry her back home."

Isabella's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "You'll do what?"

"I told you, I'm not leaving without her."

"But she is obviously staying overnight! And might stay for more than one night!"

Heathcliff took three large steps towards her and was in front of her before she could blink.

"You want to make her your prisoner?" he asked, fury shining in his eyes again.

Isabella gaped.

"My prisoner? Does this look like a prison to you?"

"Not much of a difference."

"Well! You're free to go if you think so!"

Heathcliff glared at her. "So you dragged me in here and now you're throwing me out."

Isabella scowled. "I'm not the one being impertinent."

"Your stupid beast of a dog attacked Cathy –"

"He's _not_ stupid. He's very intelligent actually, he saw two strangers –"

"And now you think you'll keep her here, against her will?"

Isabella could feel her cheeks growing redder and redder. Why was this boy so infuriating? Didn't he realize how foolish he was acting?

"Your..._friend_ can barely sit up in bed, much less do anything. If you think waking her and taking her out in that weather will do her any good then you are very simple indeed."

Heathcliff made a face.

"Then what'm I supposed to do?" he grumbled.

Isabella sighed. "I'll need to tell my father about you. Who are you, exactly?"

Heathcliff's eyes darkened. "I'll have you know, I'm the late Mr. Earnshaw's son." He said this without muttering or slurring his words. He said it clearly and proudly.

Isabella's eyes widened. This bedraggled and seedy boy was Mr. Earnshaw's heir?

"_You're_ young Mr. Earnshaw? You're Miss Earnshaw's brother?"

Heathcliff looked away.

"No...not her blood brother. Mr. Earnshaw took me in, raised me, made me who I am."

_Now it makes more sense,_ she thought. _But why would Mr. Earnshaw take this boy as his son?_

"...and your mother?"

Heathcliff frowned. He already felt he'd told her far too much.

"What's your business with her?"

"I only want to know how I am to introduce you to my father."

"D'ye have to tell him I'm here? Don't you have a place where I can hide?"

"Hide?!"

"Don't want him to know I'm here, do I? He won't be asking questions like you. No, he'll just kick me out."

Isabella felt the panic rising in her chest. It was one thing to bring this half-brother inside the house, but to lie to her family and hide him away?

She suddenly froze. She could hear the physician's voice in the hallway.

"Mr. Linton, I must say, your Bavarian Warmblood is a fine beast, how on Earth did you find him on this market –"

"Come with me," she urged Heathcliff.

She opened the door and peeked outside. They didn't have much time.

"Where're we going?" he asked behind her.

"The kitchens."

* * *

"Good heavens, child! First they bring in that wild girl, now this little vagrant!" Martha, the cook, exclaimed as she placed two steaming bowls in front of them.

"Bella, you can't be serious!" Edgar said, his voice raised an octave higher.

"He's telling the truth! Aren't you? He was with Cathy – I mean, Miss Earnshaw – when we found them outside."

Heathcliff had retreated to a corner of the kitchen and was studying his nails.

"When _you_ found him outside," Edgar protested, "I saw no one."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "You were busy with Skulker and Father."

"And what were you doing, chasing young boys like that?" Edgar scolded.

"Just because you're older does not mean you've a right to talk like Papa," Isabella replied coldly.

"Sit down the both of you and eat! I won't have this running cold!" Martha yelled at them.

One of the servants poured more milk into Edgar's tea.

"And he's her half-brother?" he whispered in her sister's ear.

"Can't you see the clothes on him? Those are good clothes, though dirty. And he's very proud, you should hear him talk about old Mr. Earnshaw," Isabella told him in hushed tones.

"I know you're talking about me," Heathcliff growled from his corner.

"Won't you eat something?" Isabella asked.

"I already told you. I want to see Cathy."

"Now boy, unless you want me to hit you with this colander," Martha warned, "you'll clean off that bread and cheese."

Heathcliff looked at the small plate the cook had placed on the bench next to him. He pushed it farther away.

Martha was about to go at him again, but Isabella got up and stepped between them.

"Leave him be, Martha, please, this is all my fault anyway. I must tell Father."

Edgar put down his spoon.

"What are you going to tell him?"

"The truth, naturally. I'll tell him Miss Earnshaw's half-brother was worried for her health."

"That's not the truth," Edgar commented.

"It's just as good! And then I'll tell him to write to young Mr. Earnshaw to confirm."

Heathcliff eyed her disdainfully when he heard her plan.

"You'll be wasting your time, writing to that idiot."

Edgar seemed shocked. "You...boy, you talk to your brother like that?"

"I'm no _boy._ And I don't need your sister to lie for me. Tell your father I'm not leaving without Cathy and that's all there is to it," Heathcliff replied in a tone that allowed no arguing.

"Why would I be wasting my time?" Isabella asked, edging closer to him.

Heathcliff shrugged his shoulders.

"Tell me," Isabella insisted. "Please."

"Because Hindley's a devilish fellow and hates me for sport."

She and Edgar exchanged a look.

"He hates you?" Edgar asked. But Heathcliff once again decided he'd said too much.

"What's to be done, Bella?" her brother asked after a short while.

Isabella squared her shoulders. "We must face the tide."

Heathcliff snorted under his breath. The girl said the strangest things. She probably thought she was very clever. He threw her a look. He'd seen girls like that in town. They all rode in carriages and carried fans and wore gloves. They disgusted him. They all seemed more dead than alive to him.

And Isabella Linton was no different.

* * *

Edgar had promised to wait outside. As the older brother, he'd insisted on talking to Father first, but Isabella had begged him not to.

"He's already upset with you about Skulker and Miss Earnshaw. Please only come when I signal you to."

"Bella, you think you're older now, but you're still very young."

"You know Papa has a soft spot for me."

Both she and Edgar knew that was only half true. Mr. Linton did not possess "soft spots". But he was much more apt to tolerate his daughter than his son, from whom he expected only exemplary behaviour.

When she knocked at his study door, she knew he was alone. The physician was long gone.

"Enter."

Isabella was shaking. She'd never been more afraid of her father, which was silly since she had angered him much worse when she was younger.

"Father," she said, curtsying.

"What on Earth do you want at this late hour, child? I have little patience for your schemes and you've already visited Miss Earnshaw."

He was sitting at his desk and watching her like a hawk.

Isabella held her hands tight behind her back.

"I am very sorry to disturb you, Father. I only wanted to let you know Miss Earnshaw's half-brother is here and he is going to – going to be staying the night."

"Isabella, is this one of your stories again? What half-brother?"

"She speaks the truth, Father." Edgar stepped inside, ignoring Isabella's angry glares. "This boy was with Miss Earnshaw when she got hurt. We knew she couldn't have come here alone."

"What is the meaning of this? Both of you seem to know about a stranger in my house and I nothing?"

"Miss Earnshaw was asking for him, Father," Isabella intervened. "His name is Heathcliff."

Mr. Linton could not deny the physician had mentioned the name to him. The girl was repeating it over and over in her delirious state.

"We'll have this ridiculous business settled here and now. Bring me this boy!"

"He's in the kitchens, we thought –" Edgar began.

"You thought wrong. Bring him here right this instant! I mean to talk to this boy. And then the two of you will go straight to bed."

"But Papa –"

"No further discussions! I shall decide what is to be done with this...half-brother. Is that clear?"

The siblings had no choice but to leave, their cheeks red with shame.

* * *

Isabella couldn't close one eye all night. She twisted and turned in her bed anxiously.

What had happened? Had her father spoken to Heathcliff?

Had he turned him out into the cold night? Had he sent him back to the kitchens? Had Heathcliff spoken to him in the same devil-may-care fashion?

_No, he wouldn't have dared! No one speaks to Father that way!_

But what if Heathcliff had said something awful and he was standing outside their gates right now? Because she knew the boy wouldn't leave without Miss Earnshaw. His loyalty was unquestionable.

She even ran to her window several times to check whether he was there, yelling for Cathy.

Thankfully, she heard and saw nothing.

Long after midnight, she was still awake.

Unable to quiet her mind and heart, she pulled the robes over her nightwear and snuck outside into the dark and empty corridor.

The only sounds she heard were soft thuds and hushed whispers in the servants' quarters. She would've liked to knock on Edgar's door. He might know more. But she didn't dare.

A strange sort of chill crept into her bones.

She had never walked out of the room at this strange hour.

_Well, there was that one time when you were feverish._

Isabella shook her head. Someone had to be awake to tell her what had happened. Marta or Miss Barch or Sarah, the maid who'd washed Miss Earnshaw's wounds, or any other servant with sharp ears.

Barefoot and under-dressed, Isabella pattered down the corridor, holding her breath as she went. If someone caught her at this hour, she didn't want to think of the consequences. But at the same time, she knew she wanted to be caught just so she might find out about Heathcliff.

_Oh, how do you get yourself into these things?_

She reached the first floor without stirring anyone from their sleep and she was about to make her way downstairs to see if the kitchens were empty when she almost stumbled and fell.

Something warm and heavy had collided with her feet.

She would have probably woken up the entire floor if she had fallen, but an arm shot up just in time and a big, rough hand pulled her back up.

She almost let out a shriek. She knew she'd probably have a mark on her arm.

She recognized those burning, black eyes.

"What..." she whispered, but the question died on her lips.

Heathcliff was lying down next to Cathy's door, just like he said he would.

"Don't speak," he told her in a gruff and sleepy voice.

For the first time in her life, Isabella felt embarrassed in a way she had not before. She was alone at night with a young man. She became aware of her attire and hair.

She was about to exclaim how completely improper their meeting was, when Heathcliff placed a finger over his lips and shook his head in a silent warning.

Isabella frowned.

"But you can't -"

Heathcliff threw her a look. _Dare me_, it said.

She didn't want to know what he was capable of, though. She only pointed up towards the second floor, where her father slept.

"Did he..." she trailed off, still in a whisper.

And for the first time, Heathcliff smiled. It was more of a smirk. He pressed his finger to his mouth again.

Isabella pulled the robes around her body, feeling very cold.

She wondered if this was a dream. It had to be.

Did anybody know what he was doing there? Would she tell anybody else? No one would believe her anyway.

If this was a dream, the only solution was to wake up.

She mouthed an inaudible 'good night' and turned around, refusing to look back, for fear that when she did, there would be nothing there. And she'd find herself alone in the dark.

But as she turned to climb up the stairs, she could have sworn she heard him say 'good night' in a low and throaty voice.

* * *

The next morning, the mystery was finally cleared up.

Isabella came down to breakfast, heart pounding in her chest, throat dry, palms sweating.

When she arrived, her father was reading a missive at the table. Edgar had taken his usual seat on his right and – she almost suffered a shock – Heathcliff was sitting there too.

He was sitting some seats away from her father and brother but he was there!

And not only that, he was wearing different clothes! Gone were the dirty garments.

She recognized the new clothes. Her brother must have lent them to him. They fit well, since Heathcliff, though younger, was more strongly built than Edgar, but they looked coarse, or rather, he looked coarse in them. She could tell Heathcliff hated them. He sat very stiff and uncomfortable, like he'd never worn tight breeches or a waistcoat before.

He was sulking even more than the day before, but he seemed less agitated.

"Oh, Isabella, come in and sit. I was just reading a letter from young Mr. Earnshaw."

Heathcliff did not look her way, but Isabella realized last night had not been a dream. He really had sat at Cathy's door.

"May I tell her, Father?" Edgar asked, noticing that his sister was very nervous.

"Well, she'll find out eventually, won't she?"

"Bella, Papa sent a missive to young Mr. Earnshaw last night to inform him about Miss Earnshaw and...and Heathcliff."

Gradually, the entire affair was revealed to her.

When the two siblings had gone to bed that evening, Mr. Linton had sat and spoken with Heathcliff and – Isabella suffered a second shock – found the boy to his liking.

Of course, he never said as much, but Isabella knew her father well. The stern looks he sent at the other end of the table towards their uninvited guest were more amused than scandalized.

"Young Mr. Earnshaw has written back, attesting to owning a sister, but...but not a brother," Edgar spoke, glancing at Heathcliff worriedly.

"Speak plainly to your sister, boy," his father chided him. "Young Mr. Earnshaw recognized Mr. Heathcliff here as his father's "ungrateful charity"."

Isabella blushed. So it was true. In her experience and from the meagre novels she'd been allowed to read, she knew that someone of Heathcliff's origins could not expect much.

"In any case, he had enough sense to confess to an obvious failure to watch over his younger sister or domesticate this little man here," her father continued, putting the missive back on the table.

"That is...unfortunate," Isabella said, because she knew she was expected to say something. Did her father know Heathcliff had spent the night at Cathy's door? Would he still be amused then?

"Well, I thought you two might be happy," Mr. Linton spoke, raising an eyebrow.

"How do you mean, Father?" Isabella inquired.

"Surely, the task is in our hands now. Isabella, you have earned the sister you've yearned for so long and Edgar...I'm sure Heathcliff will prove a useful challenge."

The two siblings gaped at one another.

"Oh, don't look so daft!" Mr. Linton said, smirking. "We're not keeping them forever. Only until Miss Earnshaw fully recovers and the two of them learn some manners."

Edgar smiled a wistful smile at the prospect of having the beautiful and mysterious Catherine Earnshaw as an extended guest in their house and commended his father for the kind gesture. But Isabella was a bit uneasy. She was very happy to have a new playmate – because, surely, she wouldn't be allowed to play with Heathcliff very much and she was certain she didn't really want to – but the whole affair seemed shrouded in peculiarity.

She snuck a look at Heathcliff.

He had been quiet the entire time, sitting and eating reluctantly. But now his head was raised and he was staring straight at Mr. Linton with a mixture of contempt and respect.

She was astonished to see such contradictory feelings come together in one expression.

Then his eyes landed on her. And the respect disappeared.

Her heart sank. She knew she'd have a hard time with him. He would probably taunt her. Edgar had always been, if not kind, at least reserved and polite to her.

What would happen now? Miss Earnshaw would probably side with Heathcliff.

_You're being absolutely silly! This is your house and your family! He can't do anything to you! And you are a young woman with a very good mind and a strong character and you won't allow this wild boy to make you think otherwise!_

She plastered on a sweet smile and looked back at him without flinching.

_I'll educate you if I have to. I'll tame you until you are as behaved and nice as Edgar._

Of course, she knew it was a fantasy, but she could try.


End file.
